Happy Birthday
by ShadowMayne
Summary: He wondered what he would get. It wasn't everyday he turned five. But what he got? he never expected that. He never expect to be alone, to cry, to be cold.
1. Dean's PoV

A sad one shot about life after death. Dean's life after Mary's death.

**Happy Birthday**

A calendar hung on the wall. A count day to today was writing in sloppy writing, right down to today.

Two weeks. One week. Five days. Four. Three. Two. One.

Every day a scribble eliminated the day from existence. Today, today no one had crossed off the day.

A tiny boy shifted in his bed. His eyes flickering open. He lay for a moment, pondering the sunlight as it ran in long fingers down the length of the room.

Then, as the thought occurred to him, he shot up in bed, his eyes darting to the calendar hanging stubbornly on the wall.

Tiny eyes lit up with happiness. A grin that light up a room spread across the child's cute features.

He bounced out of bed, no longer sleepy. His tiny feet hit the floor and the wandered over to his brother.

Gently, he carried Sammy into his father's room.

The curtains were pulled closed, the strong smell of whiskey usually made Dean gag. Today he walked straight into it.

Nothing could squash the bubbling happiness in his heart. Not today.

"Daddy?" He asked. A stifled groan came from the lump in the sheets. "Daddy? Daddy! Guess what day it is?" He grinned, knowing daddy would reply.

"What is it Dean?" Came the annoyed reply. Dean frowned at this; the five year old's features morphing into disappointment.

"You know right?" He asked gently.

"Go away Dean, daddy has a hangover."

A few tears sprang into the green eyes as the child nodded, leaving the room. He settled Sam back into his cot and looked at the calendar, just to be sure.

He sat in the kitchen, picking at the milk soaked cereal before him. Why didn't daddy remember?

No, don't be silly. He scolded himself, of course daddy had remembered. Maybe he's planning something…like a surprise birthday party like mummy got.

Yes, he decided. That was it, Daddy had something planned. He smiled to his cereal, the tiny eyes lighting up with delight.

He wondered what he would get. A water gun? He had always wanted to have a water fight like the kids down the street. Or maybe a video? Yeah, mummy used to love watching old videos with Dean. Maybe the bike he had begged for? He saw all the big kids riding them. He squirmed with anticipation.

Daddy left Sammy and Dean at home after he got up. Dean sang to Sammy, he sang the lullaby mummy used to sing about the birds.

Dean wondered where Daddy was as he watched television. He didn't like sitting her for so long by himself, he wanted to have cake; he wanted to celebrate like he did last year.

That night, when the milky sky turned dark Daddy came back. He stumbled through the door. Dean perked up from the couch, waiting.

Daddy took one look at Dean's expectant face and scowled. "What?" He demanded, the shots he had just downed heightening all emotion.

Dean cringed, not the gift he had expected. "Nothing." He whispered. Daddy glared at him, then went to check on Sammy, who was sleeping in the cot.

Dean stood up, his legs carrying him outside. He sat on the gravel.

Daddy didn't remember.

Daddy didn't care.

Hot tears trickled down his face. He looked up at the stars, imagining their laughing voices.

Stupid child, he thought he mattered. That's what he hears, he can't understand how, but he does.

He traces in the dirt. An absent finger running through the tear splashed soil.

He looked again to the stars and begged, silently for daddy to remember, he begged for mummy to come back.

He begged to matter.

But when no answer returned from the mocking heavens he stood, and ran to the door of the motel, ran to free himself.

His cold fingers reached up to the door handle and tugged. The door remained closed, but the floodgates didn't. Tear after tear poured down a pale face.

Tiny fists hit the wood. No one answered, no one came.

He wiped away the tears a curled up on the doorstep, unnoticed by passer-by's. Locked out by his own father.

Cold and alone the sat by the door, seeking what warmth flowed from the crack at the bottom of the door.

He sat huddled to the floor, a hand in the dirt, drawing.

That morning, when he woke the words, "Happy Birthday" Lay at his hand. The only one to remember was hit absent hand.

He wiped the message away and waited. Waited for someone to remember that he was here.

Waited to be important.

Waited so long he missed his birthday.

THE END

------------ ------------

PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! I love to hear what you think because it helps me write more.


	2. John's PoV

When I first wrote this several people wanted John to remember, and one person asked for a sequel, I know it's late. But here it is. Just for you guys. Please review!

**Happy Birthday**

The curtains were pulled closed, the door shut.

A lone figure was prone on the big double bed, hidden beneath layers of blankets and sheets, a hand hanging of the edge of the mattress, hovering over a half hidden gun, as if in wait of some unknown horror.

The figures face was buried in the pillow, as though the tiny amount of light sneaking under the curtains was blinding.

Yes, the darkness helped. It always helped the oldest Winchester after he had been out all night.

He sighed, rolling over, last night's hangover wearing away fast.

He tried to burrow further into the blankets when he heard crying. He sighed, "Dean, get your brother, Daddy feels bad."

He let his eyes flicker closed again. The crying continued. "Dean?"

He groaned, cursing his lazy son as he swaggered across the room and into the hall. Flicking on the lights as he went.

The boy's room was close, Sammy was still crying. He opened the door and looked over to Dean's bed. The sheets were still, obviously Dean was either already up or had slept on the couch.

John didn't mind much, as long as he slept quietly. He saw a piece of paper stuck to the wall, he sighed, making a mental note to tell Dean to stop doing that.

He walked over the crib and saw his youngest son reaching intently for a teddy bear, once Dean's, which had been pushed to the end of the bed. Evidently his youngest son was too lazy to get it himself.

"Here you go Sammy." He whispered, brushing back his son's hair. "I love you Sammy." He kissed the child's forehead before leaving the room.

"Dean?" He called. Sighing when he heard no reply he made his way to the front door, intent on picking the news paper up from the doorstep, where the caretaker of the motel left if promptly each morning.

Sunlight flooded the room and he shielded his eyes for a moment before looking down.

He smiled. Dean was sitting on the front step, gazing out over the street.

"Hey Sport." He said.

A miserable face turned to him. "Hey."

John frowned. "Why don't you go inside?" he asked, as he bent down, retrieving the paper.

"Oh…" A flicker of hope spread across his son's face, but he saw it fall immediately when the child looked around the room.

"Are you ok Dean?"

"Yeah…Gonna check on Sammy." The child left, tiny feet shuffling on the floor. John frowned. Why was Dean sad today?

What was so special about today, he was so happy yesterday.

John's heart clenched. Yesterday…Dean…Birthday.

Memory came in flashes.

_Dean coming into the room. _

_Dean asking him what day it was._

_Dean at the table. _

_An expectant face. _

_Watery Eyes._

_The paper on the wall._

_The markings in the dirt…_

Oh God. He forgot his own son's birthday! He stared at the floor. How could he do that?

What kind of a father forgets their own children?

He ran upstairs, intent on apologising, but he paused on the stairs as he saw Dean carry Sam out of their room and into the lounge room. He followed them and hovered out of sight.

Silent tears streaked down his eldest son's face. John felt his heart as it was torn out and stamped under foot, he did this.

He did this to his son.

He closed his eyes and wandered back down the hall, towards his son's room.

On the floor lay a single sheet of paper, counting the days Dean's birthday. There was a rip down the centre.

John Winchester clutched it with shaking hands as tears spilt over his foggy eyes and splashed on a tiny, seemingly unimportant piece of paper.

A piece of paper that represented his failure.

THE END…this time I mean it.

-------- ----------

Hey guys, please review. It means the world to me. Tell me what you think!

Until next time, keep smilin' :D shadowmayne.


	3. Picture Perfect

Ok, someone asked for another chapter, so I decided to write one. Thanks for all of your support, it means the world to me!

**Happy Birthday **

The salty tears had long since run dry. Eyes stared into the distance, not seeing, merely lost in memory.

The five year old shifted slightly, looking down to his brother, who had one tiny hand clutching Dean's shirt.

Dean couldn't help but smile. At least someone needed him. Sammy's eyes opened, beautiful puppy dog eyes gazing intently at Dean.

The little smile made Dean's heart warm a little. Perhaps his birthday wasn't so important now, daddy had Sammy now.

Dean nodded vaguely at his thoughts, yes, that made sense. He didn't matter because Sammy did. He smiled down to his brother. He didn't need to matter, Dean was happy as long as Sam was.

He silently vowed that he would always make Daddy proud; Sammy would always matter more than him.

Always.

Dean didn't mind giving up his birthday, not if it meant daddy would look down on him for the first time since mummy went away and be proud, be happy with what he did.

He remembered a time when Daddy had been proud.

"_Daddy! Daddy!" A three year old Dean waddled into his father's waiting arms, proudly producing a painting consisting of four fat lines with circles on the top, all joined by another line. _

"_Hey Dean, did you do that all by yourself?" John asked, eyes shining with happiness. _

"_Tha's you Daddy, and mummy, an' me…and that's my bubbie brother!" Dean said, pointing at each smudged line with a half painted finger. _

"_Dean. You don't have a brother."_

_Dean looked up at his daddy with knowledgeable eyes. "I will Daddy."_

_John laughed, kissing his son's forehead, "It's wonderful." He said, taking the picture in his hands and sticking it to the fridge, "So we can see it every day." _

Dean sighed, hugging his brother close, he had been right of course, he had gotten a brother.

Maybe that's what daddy needed, a picture, just like the one he had back then.

He stood up, eyes bright with anticipation, setting his brother down in the cot he disappeared into his room.

OoOoOoO

John Winchester set the paper down gently and left the room, his eyes filled with the tears he son no longer cried.

He sat at the table, a bottle of scotch in hand. What had he done?

How did it ever come to this? He stared into the liquid as though it were a pool that could show him that answers, but all he saw was his sad eyes reflected back to him.

What would Mary think?

"Daddy?" A tentative voice asked, almost afraid.

"Hey kiddo." John said, trying to be bright, he owed his son that much.

"I – I made a picture…of us." Dean said, wondering if he mattered enough to talk, yes, he decided, at least until Sammy could command the conversation.

"Let me see Dean." John said, his hand held out, a fake grin on his face.

The youngster smile brightly, apparently much more sure about something. Tiny hands held out a piece of paper.

Four people were on the page, one had long blonde hair covered in long red strokes, evidently fire. The next was the tallest, holding the smallest. And then, in the far corner, almost not there at all was the second smallest.

"That's me." Dean said, pointing to the one apart from the others. "I wasn't sure if I should be there."

"Why?"

"Because Sammy matters more now." Dean said eyes looking up to his father, as his father took him in his arms.

"You matter too Dean, just as much as Sammy."

"That's you and Sammy." Dean said, ignoring his father. "And that's mummy…she's gone now…"

John sighed; he didn't want to talk about Mary.

"But mummy's coming back right?"

"No Dean."

"Does she hate us?"

"No Dean."

"Then why'd she leave?"

"She didn't want to."

"But she did!"

"DEAN!" A thunderous voice shouted out.

The five year old cowered back, tears springing into his eyes. "I'm sorry sir." It was barely a whisper, weighted down with guilt, sorrow, rejection.

"Dean…"

Dean snatched the painting away, ripped it in half and ran.

John watched him go, feeling guilty for the hundredth time that day. He looked at the tattered painting, he saw Mary in it, and he saw the disappointment in her eyes.

He forgot his own son's birthday and then yelled at him for something he didn't understand.

What father did that?

John sighed, he buried his face in his hands, and perhaps being a drill sergeant would be easier than being a father.

He picked up the newspaper.

Evil was everywhere, but he never thought that he might be one of the many things that made people's lives sad, but looking at his son he knew.

This fight was one he had to control or he'd loose his sons forever.

---- ------

The end…or is it?

---- ------

If you have any ideas for another chapter tell me and I'll look into doing another chapter. Otherwise, this is the end.

PLEASE Review!

Keep smilin' :D


	4. Just Repeat

Dean didn't paint anymore. Dean didn't sing or play ball outside. Dean didn't smile or greet his father with a hug. Dean didn't cry or complain.

Dean wasn't really the Dean he was. He was a new Dean.

He had taken care of Sammy, raised him better than John could have expected. He cleaned the house, or motel, the cabin and the car.

He washed the dishes and cooked or ordered the meals. He worked hard at hunting skills and he almost never asked for anything.

But once a year he asked for one thing.

Every year on his birthday he asked something. And most years he got it.

Dean never spoke of that first birthday after his mother's death and John avoided it nicely. Sam used to ask what it had been like after their mother was gone.

Dean had said nothing. John had smiled and said he had loved his boys.

Maybe if he said it enough times he would believe he showed it.

That birthday of Dean's had been a blocked out memory. John had gone on his first hunt the next day and came back with a basketball for Dean.

Dean had pretended to be surprised, to love it. But he never used the ball and a week later a raging spirit had ripped it apart.

Fifteen year old Dean sat slumped on the couch. He knew what day it was, and as usual his father and Sammy were arguing. Sammy had remembered his birthday too; he had given him a new knife.

John had grunted what sounded like happy birthday, but he couldn't be sure.

John wandered into the room after sending Sam to his room.

"Dad?" Dean asked tentatively.

"What?"

"Can I go to Crystal's party tonight?" He asked. That would be his present this year. That was his one request for the year.

"Who's Crystal?" John asked, looking suspicious.

"Girl friend." Dean muttered.

"Make sure you're back by midnight."

"Thanks sir." Dean jumped up and left, excitement bubbling over again. He never got to go to parties and Crystal was really cool.

Dean wasn't Sammy, he didn't want normal, but he did want friends sometimes.

OoOoOoOoO

"Dad?" Sammy whinged coming into the room as Dean left. "I want to go to this movie tonight."

"You can't go by yourself."

"Dean can take me."

"He's going out."

"But Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad."

"Ask him."

Sammy smiled and left, watching his son go John put his head in his hands. What had he just done?

Dean could never say no to Sammy, and tonight was the one night Dean had something planned. It was Dean's birthday. Surely Dean should go to this party?

No, John thought. They weren't like normal families. But today was their night off from hunting. They were skipping town tomorrow.

He looked down at the newspaper in his hands. Remembering the days he forgot Dean's birthday, remembering the times he yelled at his son, at a child who didn't understand.

Guilt melted his insides. Was this to be another failure?

Of course. Because since Mary, it seemed all he ever did was fail.

OoOoOo

"Sammy no!" Dean said. "I want to go to this party."

"Daddy said you had to take me, he says parties are a waste of time."

"Sammy I asked him before he said I could go."

"Well he changed his mind!" Sam knew he was lying, but he really wanted to go to the movies. Besides Dean didn't look too excited about the party anyways.

So Dean took Sammy to the movies because he thought his father had forgotten his promise to him. He said he would let Dean ask for and have one thing every year. He swore that the day he got the basketball for Dean.

And John let Sam convince Dean to go to the movies because he thought family came first.

What he forgot was what the family wanted.

Dean came home and locked himself in his room. Dean didn't ask for anything next year. He wasn't prepared to have it taken away again.

Dean didn't have girl friends anymore, he had one night stands. Because he was afraid of that rejection. He was afraid they would turn on him like Crystal did.

Crystal had been so mad when he never showed. He didn't want to feel that way again.

Every year for his birthday Sammy made him a card, got a stupid present and John said "happy birthday".

But then John stopped saying it. Because every time the words were uttered they were a painful reminded of the times he failed his son.

So the one thing that made him a father slipped away.

Then Sammy went to College. And no one said 'happy birthday'. No card came in the mail. No hug. No requests. Not even a stupid basketball.

Dean got locked out that night too.

He slept in the car, and John didn't even notice.

History was doomed to repeat itself.

And Dean tried to stop caring.

But sometimes, when he was alone, when no one was there he realised, he'd give almost anything for a birthday with family.

He'd give anything for someone to remember.

----- THE END---

Ok. That's the last one-shot I'm going to put here, unless someone wants another.

Please review! It means the world to me.


	5. Tears of the heart

When Dean was little Daddy had used to tell him about all the great things they'd do when he grew up.

When Dean growing up Daddy used to tell Dean all the things he failed at when he was little.

When Dean was grown up he remembered the stories from daddy, and the hunts and the disappointment.

Even in his early twenties he felt he could do nothing right. Dean used to be a happy little kid. Dean used to paint and sing.

Dean used to run around in the rain and complain about the no sweets before supper rule.

Dean used to let people know he could feel too.

Now he didn't. Perhaps if he distanced himself from the pain enough, perhaps if he ran far enough, if he drove fast enough he could escape the disappointment, the rejection he saw in his father's eyes.

When they were little and he had almost killed Sam by leaving the motel room, only to come back to a Shtriga attacking John had turned to him, he had blamed him.

And Dean's half built walls had shot up.

Dean's hand lingered over his mobile phone. Sighing he pressed the tiny button, and took a deep breath.

This was the one thing he would ask for this year, the chance to hear his baby brother's voice. Just once more, just to remind himself someone did care.

John was out on a hunt, and Sammy was a college. Maybe they would remember his birthday, just this once.

"Hello Sam Winchester speaking."

"Sammy." It was a gasp, a sigh of relief. It was like his prayers had been answered.

"Dean? Why are you calling?"

"To chat?" It sounded like a statement. A cocky façade hiding the rejection.

There was silence, a huff, and then a long stream of beeps. Dean's shoulders sagged, disappointment sweeping over him.

Alone, on his birthday. Hung up on, on his birthday. Dean growled in frustration, why did this seem so goddamned familiar?

He threw the phone as hard as he could and it smash against the floor. Tiny pieces of technology flew past him but he didn't move. He made no effort to fix it.

He felt no remorse.

All he felt was pain. He felt the betrayal like a piercing knife in his heart.

Every missed birthday, every forgotten achievement, burning anger simmered for a moment.

He couldn't blame them could he?

His father raised him, he owed his father his loyalty, his brother took priority over him and he owed it to him to protect him.

He looked at the phone; it had shattered with his heart. He sighed, burying that pain. Letting it sink into acceptance.

He swept away the pieces of the broken cell; he pushed them into a plastic bag and threw them into the bin.

He would get a new phone; claim that his had been broken by last week's spirit. John wouldn't look into it too much.

He never did.

He would hide the broken phone like he hid his broken heart.

John stumbled home around ten that night, mumbled about lazy shop assistants and lying signs before flopping onto the bed.

Dean had almost expected something. Almost.

Alone now, safe from the threat of his father wondering through the door Dean sat on the steps like he had so many years ago.

And one by one the first tears he would shed this year fell to the ground, splashing in the dirt.

He looked to the sky for a moment.

The twinkled back to him, and for a moment he let himself believe that one day, he would get a real birthday. And someone would share it with him.

He let himself dream about it, before burying the thought. Dreams don't come true.

--- ---

I have given up calling this a one-shot, and have since thrown the "The End" thing out of the window.

If anyone wants another chapter please let me know.

Please review. They make me so happy!

Keep smilin' :D


	6. Memories

**Chapter 6**

Paper lay strewn across the bed, a laptop poking out of the hundreds of books and essays. Across the top of the bed, wearing a pair of checker cotton shorts and a daggy blue t-shirt lay Sam Winchester.

Coffee in one hand, typing furiously with the other.

He half heartedly glanced out of the window, the milky sunset was almost gone. Jess was out with a few girl friends. Girl's night out.

If Dean were here he would have insisted Sam were a girl and made him go too. Thank god Dean wasn't here.

Not that Sam didn't love his brother, but in all honesty the over protective jerk was so annoying he was glad he had bailed out.

Dean hadn't called since he moved.

Sam couldn't help but feel rejected. How could Dean ignore him like that? It wasn't like Sam had bailed out on Dean.

Stupid Dean. He never thought of anyone else but himself. Sam had spent many a night cursing his brother for not calling or contacting him.

He was so angry that his own brother hadn't thought about how Sam felt. That Dean hadn't thought to ask, that Dean hadn't bothered thinking about his brother.

He gritted his teeth. He was supposed to be writing an essay and studying for a major exam. But no, Dean had to find a way to ruin his life here too.

An annoying buzzing of his phone snapped him out of his angry thoughts.

"Hello, Sam Winchester speaking." He announced, hoping Jess was calling to tell him she had found a new notepad for his class notes.

"Sammy."

Sam fumed for a moment, his brother had finally thought of someone other than himself for a change. "Dean? Why are you calling?"

"To chat?"

Not to apologise for rejecting his little brother, not to beg forgiveness.

Sam huffed, who the hell did his brother think he was? He snapped the phone off. How dare his brother try to pretend everything was all ok with them when he hadn't even checked in?

He threw his phone onto the bed where it harmlessly bounced on the papers for a moment.

Sam growled.

Sighing he gave up on his essay and checked his digital watch for the time.

His eyes strayed to the date and his heart froze.

How could he be so damn stupid? He wanted to slam his head on the wall. Dean's birthday!

He had hung up on his brother on his birthday! Guilt crashed over him.

He seized the phone and pressed re-dial. A pre-recorded message announced that Dean's phone was no longer available.

He swore, Dean had probably smashed it just like the time he had when their father had told them they were leaving town and Sammy wouldn't get to be in the play he had been talking non-stop about.

They had hidden the pieces together. Dean had promised he would hotwire dad's car to bring him back for the performance tomorrow night.

Sam's heart sank. Dean did so much for him.

On Sammy's tenth birthday Dean had sold his favourite gun to buy a stupid game-boy.

On Sammy's eleventh birthday Dean had skipped school to plan a surprise party.

On Sammy's twelfth birthday Dean had refused to hunt to give Sammy what he wanted.

On Sammy's thirteenth birthday Dean had spent the day at a bar hustling pool to get enough money to buy a laptop computer for him.

On Sammy's fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays his brother had jumped in front of angry spirits to prevent him from being impaled on a sword and then ripped to pieces.

Sam slid to the ground.

How could he forget about his brother? Sit there blaming him for every little thing gone wrong in his life when Dean had given his life for Sammy?

OoOoOoOoOo

John Winchester found his son sitting on the stairs outside the motel the next morning. His hangover was giving him hell and he had stepped out for air.

"Dean?"

"Yes sir?"

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Getting air sir, the room was stuffy." Dean turned away from him and John could have sworn his son's eyes were watery.

He dismissed it. If Dean didn't want to tell him then it didn't matter.

"Then go for a walk and get me some coffee."

"Yes sir." It was dejected. A half hearted reply.

John sighed; it was nothing to worry about. Not like he missed anything…

Then it hit him and he wanted to shoot himself. He missed it again.

What kind of father was he?

OoOoOoO

Dean sighed as his father ordered him about.

He had slept outside last night.

His brother had rejected him on his birthday.

His father hadn't noticed he was crying.

And he really needed to get into his car and drive until he couldn't run any further.

But what hurt him most of all was that no one really cared. Not now.

Not ever.

---- ---

There's another…one-shot/chapter. Hope you guys still like it.

If you want another chapter I'd like to know, because this is an 'only by demand' story.

REVIEW and keep smilin' ;D


	7. Erase the Day

**This is an AU chapter. **I really wanted John to be there for this part, so I changed it all around, just ignore all of season 2 and you'll be ok.

Thanks so much to one who reviewed! It means the world to me!

**Happy Birthday**

They didn't talk as often as they used to.

In fact, most of the time they sat in an awkward silence.

Dean didn't say anything, he didn't want to start an argument, and he didn't want to be left alone again.

He didn't sing along to his music and he didn't play the drums on the steering wheel. He didn't tap his feet and he didn't fidget after a few hours in the car. He just stared out to the road and drove.

He figured if he drove fast enough then they wouldn't want to leave again.

He had come home to find his dad missing and gone to find Sam, they never spoke about the one time Dean called Sam.

When they were really little Sam had always told Dean how much he loved him.

When they reached primary school Sam always told Dean he was a hero.

When they reached high school Sam always told Dean to go away and get a life.

When Sam reached College he didn't tell Dean anything.

When their father went missing Sam told Dean how he was a soldier, how he should think for himself.

Sam told him over and over how this life was bad for them, how it was a waste of time.

He said it everyday, that Dean should stop bowing to their father, that John shouldn't be hero worshipped.

He even shot Dean in the chest with rock salt over it.

But never, not once did he say the words, _Happy Birthday. _

And Dean never asked it of him. He didn't remind him of all the years he'd missed out and he didn't remind him when the day came.

He simple went out, did his job and got yelled at by Sam for _not thinking for himself. _

Dean knew he should listen to Sam, Sam was always right, about everything. But somehow, he couldn't understand that Sam hated the only way he knew how to live.

They found their father and road tripped for a while; they stopped at a beach for Sammy's birthday, and had cake for John's but Dean's?

Dean had woken up, happy that he had the one thing he only ever really wanted, a family together.

He had come into the dining room, smiling, now that they were back together and it was all in the past he knew they would remember, how could they not, he even marked it in that calendar for them, when he put in their own birthdays.

John had brought pancakes, and was looking cheerfully down to Sam when Dean had entered.

"Hey." He had said, smiling, they had remembered, finally.

"Hey!" Sam said enthusiastically. "Guess what?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, "What?"

"I got back into Stanford; they want me to start for next term!"

Dean's smile flicked, he almost laughed at himself, he had thought they remembered.

"Oh." He replied, before grinning, "That's great Sammy." He looked at his father, "What're you so cheerful about?"

"Bobby found our little yellow-eyed monster, gonna strike tonight, somewhere downtown."

How could he have possibly thought they had remembered?

Demons and college always mattered more. Dean pushed his disappointment down and smiled, "That's awesome." He flopped into the chair before downing coffee and effectively trying to hide behind the paper.

"What's up with you?" Sam asked, looking mildly annoyed.

Dean whacked up his smart-ass face and grinned, "Nothing."

"God Dean, I thought you'd be at least happy that I'm getting back into college, dad's crusade could end tonight, I mean, you don't even look happy."

Dean glanced at his coffee savoured its warm taste as he looked back at his brother and father. "Don't worry dude, I'm happy." He waved the coffee in front of his face, "Not a morning person people."

With that he decisively stood and went to down his sorrows in a shower.

They ignored him most of the day, gushing about their own respective excitement and not noticing as his fake smile disappeared over and over again when they chastised him for not being enthusiastic.

He'd have given anything to not have to go hunting tonight, he didn't want to see the demon, he wanted to see a huge bottle of beer and drink himself happy.

When they did get to the house they found themselves in the wrong place.

Strange thing was the demon showed up anyway, looking for the colt.

As if his birthday wasn't bad enough he was slammed against a wall as the resident possessed by the demon strode briskly between the Winchester's.

"I thought better of you Winchesters," It sneered, "You should now you're outta your depth."

"What can we say?" Dean asked, bitter and agitated. "We're slow learners."

"That's right isn't Dean?" The demon shot back, "it's taken your whole life to realise that they aren't gonna remember, and your still hoping."

Dean shot it a nasty glare. "Back off."

"You're in no position to order me." The demon reminded him, as he turned back to Sammy on John.

"All this," It said, waving a hand at the colt, the back of weapons, the salt around the doors, "For the revenge of a loved one, and you can't even remember each other's birthdays."

John's eyes widened, and he wanted to shoot himself. His heart clenched again, his body tensed and his knees went weak, he had forgotten again.

How could he?

He had sworn to himself he wouldn't, not ever again. How many years had it been since he remembered?

What kind of father was he?

Guilt drove through his veins as he stared at his eldest son, who stared back at the demon, ignoring his family's reactions.

He didn't want to see them shrug and say 'it was only Dean anyway.'

Sam summed up John's feelings as he swore under his breath.

The saddest thing was that it took a demon to remind them what day it was. They hadn't looked in the calendar to see Dean's neat writing, they had checked the date and it hadn't clicked.

The demon chuckled, turning back to Dean, hoping to break him.

"But you thought they'd remembered didn't you?" He asked, leaning closer, making sure Sam and John could hear him. "When you woke up and they weren't fighting, you thought for the first time in…is it ten years? One of them remembered…"

Dean's gaze didn't flicker from the yellow eyes as it started again. "And then they started going on about their own achievements, how they're so much more important that you, it's true, you know it's true. You've always know, ever since mother dearest died. You're not special; you're the freak, the accident."

Dean growled, "Go away."

The Demon smiled before laying a hand on the colt, "I'll take this with me, for…safekeeping." Then he was gone and an angry resident yelled at them for trespassing.

Dean shot out of the house before Sam and John had moved an inch.

He had seen their faces, the disappointment they had looked at him with. He knew they didn't mean to forget, it was just that they mattered so much more. They always had.

He didn't want to burden them with himself, not today so he ran, taking the Impala with him, leaving John's truck for them to get back to the motel with.

He ran to a bar and ordered all the alcohol he could, ignoring every single one of the women who sauntered over to him, brushing off some guys who wanted to play pool.

All he wanted to do was erase this stupid day from existence.

He wanted to go home and have a family.

But only one would come true, so he picked the easier of two great things, and drowned the day away with amber liquid, before stumbling to his car and sleeping across the back seat.

His family didn't come looking for him, and he didn't go back to them, not tonight.

Tonight he erased the day from his head and replaced it with a throbbing headache, but even as he slept, silent tears rolled down his face.

------

Hope you like this. And I'd really love your input, as always, this is 'the end' unless people throw some ideas at me or demand some more.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Keep Smilin' :D


	8. Shattered Hearts

**Shattered Hearts**

Dean shifted in a daze. He stretched his painfully cramped limbs and sighed, wiping the few tears that had trickled down his cheeks over night from his face.

He looked around, eyes catching the digital clock on the dashboard. It was ten o'clock. And still no one had come to bring him home.

It's not like they could use the excuse they forgot again, Dean gazed out of the Impala's window.

It was painfully obvious, and it hurt to realise. They just didn't care.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. What was he supposed to do now?

Did he go back and pretend he didn't hurt? Did he pretend they hadn't ripped his heart out and carved it into tiny pieces?

Did he run away from the pain? No, even if Sammy hated him, Dean wouldn't leave him vulnerable to attack. Running a shaking hand through his hair Dean tried to stop the spinning of the world.

His hang over was worse than usual and somehow it didn't matter, he wanted to walk right back into that bar and do it again, because it made the pain go away.

He screwed his eyes up before opening the door and climbing out of the car, regretting his decision to collapse in it last night, or was it this morning?

Either way, it hurt his limbs, but not as much as the throbbing heart, that sinking feeling only he seemed to know.

Readjusting slightly in the seat he put the key in the ignition. The hum of the Impala beneath him was almost comforting…almost.

The motel was further away than he'd thought when he'd left his father and Sammy he must have driven further than noticed.

Strange, but it was probably safe to say that he'd been too caught up in the moment to notice the time pass.

The crunching of the tires on the gravel at the motel snapped him back to reality. Gathering himself together he shut off the ignition and climbed out, fumbling with the door keys as he went.

Taking a deep breath he stepped into the motel room.

--- Hours Earlier ---

Sam stared at the place Dean had been standing not two minutes ago. He couldn't believe it. How could this have happened?

How could_John _have let this happen?

Fury bubbled under his skin until he couldn't contain it a second longer and he spun to stare at his father.

"What the hell was that?" He asked, "You're his father, how could you forget his birthday dammit?!"

John's face turned livid in response, "Me?!" He shouted, "Just last week, I wasn't a father! I was a drill-Sergent and you were telling me how _you two _don't need me, and _NOW_ I'm suddenly a father again? Suddenly my responsibility is it? What were you doing kiddo? Huh? He's you brother!"

"I…I was distracted." Sam said, seeing the failure of his argument and wondering why he'd made the outburst. He didn't actually blame John, he blamed himself. But he needed to take his anger out, and the first available target had been his father.

As for his father, John was feeling guilty as hell. He'd promised himself it wouldn't happen. But the demon, it had said that it had been years since they last remembered.

How could it have come to this?

Scowling he grabbed their things and headed to the truck, assuming Sam had the intelligence to follow.

"Now what?" He asked as they climbed into their respective seats.

Sam glanced at him and shrugged. "Give him some time to cool down; he probably went to a pub."

"So we give him an hour to calm down and then we go find him?" John asked.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, about that."

Plan made they headed to the motel.

"Why'd he run off like that anyway?" John asked irritably.

Sam shrugged.

"It was careless," John continued, "the demon could have come back whilst he was gone and killed us."

Sam twitched with fury again, "We forgot his birthday dad, give him a break!"

John sighed and sat down, an air of defeat washing over him, "How did it come to this?" He whispered.

Sam's lips drew together, "We'll fix it. We can go get him something? Take a week of or something like that?"

John nodded, wondering what Mary would think of him now.

"Let's go find him." Sam said. It had been less than an hour, but somehow he didn't want to give Dean any more time.

--- Later ---

The motel room looked dark and empty from the outside.

Dean wondered briefly if they had gone and arranged a surprise party or something.

But then he realised, it wasn't worth it, knowing that Sammy and John would remember just because the demon made them.

A lone tear slipped down his face.

What had he done?

Birthdays weren't worth this much.

His happiness wasn't worth anything. It shouldn't have mattered; he shouldn't have left them there. The demon could have come back.

He was just the tag-a-long in the family; he had nothing without them, why should he expect from them?

He walked into the motel room to find it empty, there was no truck, no Sam, no John, just their things.

He looked around, why did they leave?

Maybe they went to look for him. He snorted, yeah right Dean, they probably went out to celebrate, Dean was gone, at least for a little while.

Resigning himself to his imagination as he saw John and Sam sitting in a bar somewhere laughing and joking, unaware of Dean's loneliness.

Feeling guilty for thinking that of his family, he was pretty sure they wouldn't do that, he backed out of the room again locking the door as he went.

He wandered aimlessly for a moment into the car park before heading to the road, letting his feet carry him where they pleased.

Several things happened then that were too fast to comprehend.

Screeching tyres.

A scream.

Someone calling his name.

Something cold hitting him.

Pain.

A red splatter on the floor beneath him.

The vague thought of whether it was his or not.

Blackness.

--- ---

Hey guys, I am so sorry about the wait.

Funnily enough, I am actually quite happy ending this here, but, due to the gut feeling there may be some protest I am going to write another chapter. It might be a while before the next update!!

Thanks to all my reviewers and readers.

If you have ideas, comments or random things to say please do. The more reviews the more likely I actually update.

Keep Smilin' :)


	9. Drowning

Hey guys

Hey guys. Thanks for sticking with me and thankyou for your kind reviews, the mean a lot to me. I'm sorry for making you wait.

**Drowning**

Nothing can describe what it feels like.

No one wants to. No one wants to know.

It's like holding water in your hand. You hold onto that sliver of hope that they'll remember, that they'll care, but just like the water is slides through your fingers and no matter hard you try to catch it, it trickles away.

Do you remind them? Do you stay silent? Do you carry on? Drop a hint? Dean had known how to deal with it since that first year his father forgot.

He stayed silent. He wasn't quite sure why, somehow anything else would make a fuss. He wanted nothing more than to make a fuss sometimes; to kick and scream, to grab them and shout, to say something, to do something…anything. But something held him back…something kept his pain from lashing out.

Once Sammy had remembered but John forgot. The look on John's face, it was shock, but he masked it, pretended not to be surprised. Brushed it off.

That had hurt.

His heart would pump faster, as though he were holding up some act that would be cracked any second. He would bite his lip, pretend to be worried about something else…a hunt, the money.

It was like grasping at straws. It was drowning in torrential water. It was crumbling. It was splitting at the seams.

It was being calm on the surface but screaming underneath.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

It made him second guess himself, it tore him apart and built him together. He didn't know what to do.

But still he came back.

That's what family was. Understanding that no matter how much they forgot, they still cared. They'd still die for him and him for them.

-- -- -- -- --

Sam could feel his heart beating. It was pumping so hard, he felt slightly sick.

All he could hear was this beating, thumping. That constant reminder that they hadn't found Dean.

Beside him John shifted from his seat, kicking the car door open in anger.

He was so angry at himself. Accusing questions kept popping into his head.

_How could it have happened?_

He didn't know what to do now. He was so angry he didn't notice Sam's eyes widen.

He didn't notice Dean on the road.

_Why did this happen?_

He slammed the door closed. Running a hand over his face he sighed as he realised that the motel door keys were still hanging with the other keys from the ignition.

Opening the door he vaguely wondered when Sam had abandoned the car…and why the door was open.

_Where did it all go wrong?_

It was like sound was gone for a moment. All he could think about was his boys.

_Where did you go wrong? _

Then the sound came rushing back…and all he could hear was Sam's voice…

Screaming Dean's name…

Dean was on the road, Sam was running to him.

Sam connected with Dean at the same moment the car did.

_Why did you let it happen?_

Keys fell to the floor.

Legs froze.

Eyes widened.

Sound vanished.

And one thought crossed his mind.

_If Mary were here…_

_This would never have happened…_

-- -- --

Guess what?

It's my birthday today.

Guess what?

With an exception of 2 people, no one remembered. Not even the love of my life.

If this story has moved you, let me know: Review– make my day.


	10. Something Missing

To every person who ever spent a birthday alone, who had someone special forget or couldn't see the people they loved for whatever reasons. This is for you.

-- Chapter Ten --

They didn't speak. The time for words was gone.

The barely moved at all. Strangers moved around them, glancing curiously at the strange pair. But no on was more foreign to either man than the other.

Father and Son. Commander and Solider. But they hardly knew each other.

The nurse, a plump but kind lady verging on her late forties had observed them from afar. She couldn't help but not notice the way the sat as far away from each other as possible, whilst glued at the side. As though they hated each other with a bitter passion, but were too afraid to loose the other.

John sighed, glancing over at his son, who really should have been in bed. He was slumped over slightly from the broken ribs, bandages winding around his hands and lower right arm. But it was the pain from injury that was hurting him.

It was something worse.

John closed his eyes, feeling sick to the stomach. What if they lost him? What if he died? He swallowed heavily, ignoring the faint prickling behind his eyes. He had failed his sons.

Anger swept over him as quickly as his nausea had. He wanted to kick something, scream, hunt. He needed to. Swearing angrily he threw a nasty look at the nurse and cursed his failures, trying to ignore that swimming guilt.

It wasn't meant to be this way.

-- -- -- -- -- --

_6 Months Later_

They stood over the grave. Hearts beating so loudly they were almost leaping from their chests.

They didn't say anything. This was all their fault. Each blaming themselves for the mess they were in. John hadn't been one for emotions recently. His son could hardly remember the last time he had yelled.

It was like they were tiptoeing around each other. The fuse was lit, but it hadn't struck havoc. Not yet.

The rain whipped at their face. Angrily John kicked the hard ground, watching with some satisfaction as mud sprayed everywhere.

The smile faded as the old grave was tarnished by his anger.

His eyes narrowed. Another thing that anger had ruined, however momentarily as the mud was washed away by the onslaught of rain.

If he hadn't been so angry over Mary's death…

If he hadn't been so angry at himself for forgetting…

What if…? He asked bitterly. He couldn't change the past today. It hurt too much to think about, and the only retribution had to come from himself.

Could he leave this all for his selfishness though? Another failure. It won't happen again. "Never." He whispered.

Beside him, his son scoffed as though reading his thoughts. "It's too late for empty promises dad."

John stood for a moment, the words sinking into his head. A part of him agreed, but scowling, he hated being told. It meant everyone knew. He deserved it. This failure. He would never forget it. How could he forget that sharp stinging in his heart that fateful day? How could he forget the way he'd left his son?

_How?_ He could almost hear the accusing voice of Mary in his head. Accepting guilt he sent a silent prayer to the love of his life.

Dark eyes met fuming ones. Something silent passed between them.

"Why did we come here anyway?" John demanded. His eyes darted across the grave again. This was just for ceremony. There wasn't anything in it anyway. This place held no meaning.

"Because," his son struggled for a minute. "I miss…"

"Missing won't bring anyone back." John barked, angry. He had never dealt very well with anything. And for a second both were vividly reminded of Dean's own attitudes.

His son scowled. "We were in town anyway." He turned back to the grave, "it just seems right to pay our respects, however late." He sounded awkward, like the emotions he was meant to have were foreign. It was a duty thing, with some deeper motive.

His father nodded, not bothering to argue. Arguing had wasted too much. Time was too long gone. Words were just big things thrown around by fools. They had only made life worse for the pair.

With one last glance at the grave they started to leave.

The settled into that silence. Both painfully aware of the missing presence. Things just never were the same. Not today, not yesterday. Not any day in the past six months.

And they never would be. Something was missing.

Being Winchesters, they had yet to deal with it. A lasting tribute to a lifelong tirade of chick-flick moments.

It was awkward, silent.

But there was something that kept them together.

-- A/N --

Things are not what they seem. So don't flame me – there's more to it than this.

You'll find out what kept them together next update, if you want one that is. Review and let me know, please.

Finally: Thankyou so much for all of the people who have extended their support and best wishes in the wake of my last chapter. It is much appreciated.


	11. Blame Anything

Dean watched his father and his brother standing over his mother's grave. He knew Sam missed his mother, or rather, missed the _idea _of his mother.

Sighing, he leant heavily against the door of the Impala, wishing he could run over to them and stop the argument that he could sense was so damn close to erupting.

---- Flashback ----

The silence of the hospital was deafening. There was nothing to say. Nothing to make it better. It was so obvious that nothing was happening. It felt like nothing ever could again. Sam and John sat in bitterness.

"What the hell happened?" John asked quietly, and Sam knew it was a rhetorical question. Still, he answered it with a half-hearted shrug.

"It happens all the time." He murmured. Was it meant to be an excuse? It wasn't much of one.

So many people hurting on their special day. Too many. Sam knew it wasn't just Dean's birthday. There were others who were forgotten too. But that's not the point damn it!!

It's some sad thing that happens to faceless people you never meet. It's not meant to happen to you. Worse still, you're not meant to do it.

"What the hell went wrong?!" John said, louder this time. He kicked the seat across from him in anger and watched with some satisfaction as it skidded across the floor.

Sam didn't react. He didn't have the energy anymore.

"What did we do?" John asked more forcefully as the question echoed down the corridor.

"What did we do?" His voice was too loud, but not a shout yet. A nurse looked at them in surprise, stiffened in a moment of indecision and then decided to leave them in privacy, casually turning away from them to concentrate of her paperwork.

Sam sighed as he watched his father's agitation grow. "It was what we didn't do." He calmly pointed out.

John's face flushed and he swung round to meet Sam's eyes. "Don't you think I don't know that?" He spat.

Sam's jaw stiffened. He hated it when his father got like this. He stood up, angry. How the hell was it Sam's fault? He wasn't the one kicking chairs and scaring nurses.

"Why the hell are you asking then?" Hands curled into fists, shaking with rage.

"It's not meant to be like this." The two men came together.

"Hit me then." Sam demanded, "Do you think it'll help?"

John shoved his son back into the chair and stepped away. Furious, but unwilling to fight.

"That's you solution for everything isn't it? Hit it until it goes away!" Sam's voice was louder this time.

"Sam." It was a warning.

"That's how we got here!" Sam shouted, "You left us. You left _him._ What kind of father are you?"

It struck a nerve. Something snapped and a fist smacked into the wall beside Sam's head. Close enough to scare him. John's eyes challenged Sam for a moment.

Something passed between them and Sam knew that if he had wanted to, he father would have pulverised him.

Sam sighed, deflated as John pushed his weight back and spun around, only to stop.

Sam noticed the stiff demeanour sweep over the defeated man. Standing awkwardly he leant around him, only to freeze himself.

Do you know that feeling you get when you're in trouble? When you've royally destroyed something and you feel horrible about it?

The way your heart beats a little faster. You get a little light headed. You sweat. You panic. And worst of all?

It's.

All.

Your.

Fault.

--- Dean's Point Of View ---

It burnt. It stung. It hurt. Of course, he would never admit that in public. Ever.

Or even in private.

His ankle was in a cast, broken.

His head was wrapped in a bandage. They had babbled about a hit to the head.

His right side was thoroughly bruised, and he had a nice 'graze' on his forearm that had been bleeding profusely until they'd stitched it.

But with all those medications, all those drugs. All the experts. All the doctors. They hadn't cured what was really hurting him.

They had no idea that there was no cure to this ache.

Limping along on crutches, after signing a document entitling him to leave "AMA (Against Medical Advice)", Dean made his way to the corridor.

Shouting greeting him, and with a scowl on his face he rounded the corner to see exactly what he knew would be there.

Some things never change.

Why would they? Dean's heart sank a little. His eyes narrowed. He had spent so long being accepting, being ok. They forget things, its only natural right?

It happens. Sometimes, Dean admitted quietly to himself, you just want to be selfish.

What's wrong with throwing a tantrum?

His father slammed his fist into the wall and Dean's growing anger was smoothed by seething disappointment.

They had no idea he was watching. They never had any damn idea. He hobbled forward, a little closer as they both turned to him. Shocked.

Always so shocked.

Always surprised when they see him there.

Why?

--- John's Point Of View ---

On that face was an expression that had never turned on John himself.

"What are you doing?" It was so calm, so devoid of emotion. His youngest son shifted nervously behind him.

"Son," John ventured forwards, "We…just…"

"Just what?" Dean asked, a smile graced his features. It was sad, angry. "Just fighting again?"

"We don't know what to do." Sam admitted, feeling so helpless. So alone.

Then it struck him. No matter how bad he felt right now.

It was nothing.

Nothing compared to what Dean felt every time. Every time they forgot.

Dean nodded, he eyebrows knitting together.

"Do me a favour?"

They both nodded anxiously.

"Get over it," Dean whispered. "It's just a stupid day."

They could almost see a tear sparkling in his eyes.

The both started forwards at the same time, but then stopped.

"I mean," there was an awkward silence; "you're so God Damn worked up about missing a _birthday!_ Its one day. And you guys…"

John frowned. He didn't understand what was happening.

"I just want to go home." Dean sighed, "It's been a long day."

What was he going to say?

The stood, so unsure of themselves. Family, but strangers. Together, but alone.

John had never stopped caring for those boys. He thought he was doing the right thing.

Sam had always looked up to his brother and father. He just didn't understand them.

And Dean?

One thought crossed wearily over his mind as he heavily trudged to the car.

What did one day matter, when he was surrounded by fighting and hate for the other 364 days of the year?

--- End Flashback ---

**---- End of Chapter ---**

Hello guys. Long time no see…or speak…or type?

Is anyone even reading this still? Sorry about the serious lack of updates.

Are you happy with that bitter ending or do you want a sweet one? I kind of like it this way. I'm hesitant to end it on a happy note…largely because I don't write happy as well as I write conflict.

**What do you think? Will happiness spoil the ending?**

REVIEW!!


	12. Behind the Mask

It had been twelve long months since Dean was hit by the car.

Twelve months, and nothing had changed. Not really. A couple of humble apologies that looked more awkward than anything else, and then a return to pretending.

Pretending. Hide behind the mask.

It's what they do best. It's easy really. You just wake up in the morning, stumble to the mirror and carefully school your face into a smile. The weary kind that doesn't ever reach your eyes, nor mask the shifting haunted look they have when it feels like no one can see you.

Then you laugh when it's expected of you, wave off those awkward chick flick moments and most importantly: act like it doesn't bother you.

Dean knew this well. Better than anyone. For almost thirty years he'd bottled that emotion down. It's not like he really had to deal with it all that often. Just once a year.

How odd, that he didn't look forward to his own birthday. He suspected that he never would.

It wasn't that he was holding onto old pain, not really. It's just that when you keep telling yourself that this year will be _different _and it _never _is. Well, wouldn't you be bitter too?

And he knew. He knew so damn well that he was the one who did it to himself. If he didn't get excited. If he could convince himself that it didn't matter. It wouldn't.

It wouldn't hurt.

They say you don't know how strong you are until you have no choice but to be. No more true words were ever spoken.

But even when you feel like breaking, and you wonder just _why _you haven't, knowing that you're making it doesn't help. Not a bit.

So you go through the motions. You pretend.

Dean was the master.

He could pretend until he had convinced even himself. But somewhere, there was a tiny burning anger that said that it's not supposed to hurt this much.

He just had no idea who was to blame.

His father? Who had protected him for years, cared for him, made him stronger, better?

Or perhaps Sammy? Who worshipped him, followed him, and loved him like only a brother could?

Or, and this was the one that made his heart squeeze into a knot, should be blame himself?

He really should know better.

He could remember, that day, six month ago when they had visited Mary. It was one of his most precious memories, and if he could ask for just one thing this year, this birthday, it would be for Sam and John to act they way they had then.

_His hands clenched into fists beside him as he watched Sam and John turn away from his mother's gravestone, a place he refused to go. It was futile, he could remember in other ways. _

_They were bickering about something again. _

"_We shouldn't have come," John was saying, for the ninth time. _

"_You didn't have to." It was a pointed response, one that caused John to pause. Dean saw his shoulders tense slightly. _

"_And what," John demanded in a dangerously calm voice, "does that mean?"_

_Sam glanced warily at Dean, who had straightened, eyes narrowed. _

"_Nothing." He brushed John off and reached for the door handle, pulling at it and looked dumbly at Dean when the door or the Impala didn't budge at his command. _

"_Uh…Dean?"_

"_What?" It was gruff, rough around the edges. A voice that was not in the mood for this, thankyou very much. _

"_The door?"_

"_What about it?" Dean levelled his eyes at his brother, and then swung back to his father with the air of a mother chiding her children. "This has got to stop." He said, eyes darting between them as though he wasn't quite sure of himself. _

_There was a very pregnant pause. "Dean. Explain?" John said, though even he could see where Dean was headed._

"_I'm sick of the fighting." Dean said quite simply. "So the car stays locked and we stay here: where you will work it. As a family." They all looked over at Mary's grave simultaneously. _

"_Dean…look. We're sorry." Sam started, "You know we're always here for you, these fights, they don't really mean anything."_

_Dean sighed, suddenly feeling very foolish. "Yeh, right, whatever." He unlocked the door and sat in the driver's seat, rigid, apparently unaware that he dripping wet. _

_Both his unwilling participants in that half-hearted intervention softened with relief, but their worried glance at each other did not go unnoticed by their companion. _

_The ride home was silent, and Dean wished the world would open up and swallow him whole. _

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. He thought to himself. Cringing at the memory of what had just happened. Of course, they wouldn't understand how damn irritating their bickering would be. Of course, they didn't care. _

_What was the point anyway?_

_As he pulled up to the motel they were currently residing in he paused, waiting for his passengers to unload before he could convince his limbs to work. _

_He didn't know how long he sat there alone, but it was well after dark when he moved, and the rain had all but stopped. _

_- SAM -_

_They quietly let themselves into the motel room, both uncomfortably aware of that Dean had not followed them, but neither turned back to where he sat stoically, listening to old cassette tapes. _

_With a sigh, Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, dad?" It was tentative, as he suddenly realised Dean had a point. _

_A grunt responded from where John was stripping wet socks off his feet and wringing water from his jacket. _

"_Do you…" He took a deep breath, unsure how to proceed. Did he always feel this way, when he spoke to his father without yelling? "Do you think maybe…Did Dean have a point? Should we be working this stupid thing out?"_

_John was silent for moment. How do you start a conversation that's twenty years too late? Do you just come out and say "Hey, sorry I was such a horrible person"? How to make them understand…he had just wanted to save his boys. So badly. He just wanted them to never walk into a room and see their lovely wives stuck to the ceiling in a fiery torment. _

_How do you make your son understand that you ruined his life so he would never have to feel pain? _

_How do you accept that you failed? That he felt it all anyway? _

"_I'm sorry." He whispered. _

_Sam started for a moment, he didn't understand, but he took the peace offering, "Me too, I'm sorry dad." He didn't say it, but it lingered in his words. He was sorry he hurt Dean, and that he ran away to college. That he didn't try._

_How do you make a father understand that sometimes you have to save yourself? All that pain of loosing Jess, well, it was so damn worth it to have been in her arms just once. It was…He swallowed thickly and let the thought die before it could continue. _

"_I wish life hadn't been this way." Sam said quietly into the silence, and for once, John knew exactly what he meant. _

_- DEAN -_

_He had no idea what happened, but when he came into the room, still damp and dishevelled, they were silent. No fighting. _

_He walked across to the table, sat and watched them. There they were, cooking a meal on the tiny motel stove with worn out pots and too much pasta. _

_Was that smile…?_

_A laugh…?_

_Maybe he had succeeded! Maybe, just maybe, his family was his again. No birthday could ever mean so much. Not as much as the quiet moments that made it to memory hall of fame in Dean Winchester's life. _

Of course, it never did last they way he hoped it would.

He was a fool like that. He should know better. They didn't really understand, and after a week, a month, things slipped back to the way they were because words that should have been spoken weren't.

Dean's shoulders hurt ached even. He felt empty. Alone. Today? Today was his birthday.

And how he hated it.

Leaning across the bar he ordered another shot of whatever was closest. Who cares? Birthdays are for people who live normal, apple pie lives with loved ones. Dean Winchester didn't like normal. Not for a second.

But he was only human on the inside.

Some things, you just can't escape.

The burning desire to be something to someone? Well, it was one of those things.

And being a hunter, a saviour. It gets old. Being a son? A brother? Dean would die for it a little more each day, and in a way, he did.

How did he get on?

Just go back to pretending.

The absinthe burnt his throat as he swallowed, and stood up unsteadily. How long had he been sitting here? Since noon at least, when he had woken up alone in a motel room. No Sammy or John to bring best wishes. Just that horrible silence and a stupid note "_Back soon!"_

Right. Like he was that dumb.

Staggering home under the starlit sky he couldn't help but feel like this is all he'd done since he was born. Stagger through life feeling lost, hung over and worthless.

No.

Don't think like that Dean!

With considerable effort he shoved the though away.

What good would it do?

He was nothing.

Not today. Not yesterday, and certainly not tomorrow.

Never.

With a half hearted sigh he shoved the door to the motel room open and reached for light switch.

If only life could be turned on and off when it pleased.

Just keep pretending Dean.

Don't think about it.

Hide all those feelings away behind the mask of happiness.

If you keep pretending, one day, maybe that smile will feel real.

Right?

- TBC -

Hey guys. Sorry for the wait, it's been a hectic year or two so thankyou for you patience. This was a long chapter because I was trying to bridge together everything that's happened to this point and lay the ground work for the final chapter, which should be coming soon (I hope!). Thanks to everyone's support. I hope you've enjoyed it.

As always I beg you for reviews!

I'm trying to get back into so I'd appreciate your thoughts.

Keep Smilin' :)


	13. Reprieve

Birthdays are odd phenomena. People who think you like them turn up at your house with things they think you want. The plans you make fall through, it rains on the party. Someone fights with their friends in the middle of your failed attempts at being a host and the awkward atmosphere chokes the smile from your face.

You sit down to unwrap a present and wonder why everyone else hasn't noticed you're inside without them. You spend the night cooking a banquet that everyone is jealous of and forget to have fun.

And to deal with it all you start to clean, because for one moment in your life you're in control of the situation, you can scrub the imperfections away and for the barest moment its perfection.

But it never lasts.

Not that Dean would know. He'd never had a party, or a bunch of useless presents. He'd never had the rain drench his party guests or try to conduct chaos control on his waring friends. He'd never even tried to cook more than a piece of toast.

But cleaning? Well that was one thing he did understand. He cleaned guns. He wasn't exactly sure what else you were meant to do in your free time. Imagine, Dean Winchester with a hobby? The picture of him building a model boat and sending handmade Christmas cards was laughable.

So yes, he'd never experienced all those stupid little traditions that ruin birthdays. But sometimes, when he was alone he would quietly admit that maybe, just maybe, it would be kind of cool to try.

There are things he'd rather though. Loving smiles occasionally, even a stupid chick flick moment with Sammy.

He knew that they were just busy, that they didn't mean to forget. It just happens you know? A life on the road wears you down because you never feel like you truly belong. There's no place to come home to. Home doesn't mean what it should. There's no refuge. No place that's comfortingly familiar, that you can find to be your place.

He knows that Sam and John feel it too, and that when you're tired all the time birthdays hardly matter. When being alive one more day is such a gift, why celebrate the yearly milestone?

But a part of him, a stupid, niggling, won't-go-away part of him whispers in his ear when just when he thinks he's over it. _Maybe, Dean, you just aren't good enough for it? _So he tries harder, but a part of him wishes he's done something wrong. _Because if you haven't, then it means that even when you're the best you can be you aren't enough. You aren't perfect. That there's something you can't be or have and its folly to dream you will. Sometimes, you are nothing. _

Dean is just that guy who happens to be there. He's saved hundreds of lives, but no one can save his.

And how could he think that? Dean was the glue that held Sam and John together; he was the constant in their lives. He was the guy girls dreamt of and men respected.

And yes, maybe the world didn't show that it cared, it just assumed he knew. Sometimes you spend so long thinking you're alone you forget you're surrounded by people.

But he knew he deserved better. But getting it, well, that just makes life too damn easy doesn't it?

Dean rubbed his eyes, and flicked the switch to the motel, sliding his mask back on his face before the light assaulted his eyes.

For a second, he stood frozen, unsure what to do or say. His eyes narrowed as the mask he always wore cracked a little.

So long, so long he had been pretending to be ok, and now, under the harsh, bare light of a weather-worn motel room he felt his foundations waver.

"What..?" The question died on his lips before it really formed.

There they were, John and Sam, sat at the round table to right of the door, directly in front of Dean as he turned to the kitchen. Neither stirred as he stood in the bright room wondering just how many shots he'd had.

John Winchester, commander and all round general bad-ass, had his head resting at an uncomfortable angle on the table, mouth wide open, snoring loudly.

Across from him, stretched across two chairs, feet on the table and head dangling off an armrest was Sam Winchester, dignified nice guy and junior bad-ass.

Between them, obviously store bought but no less touching, was a tiny and somewhat lopsided mud-cake that read in lurid pink letters "Happy Birthday!"

But what made Dean pause, wide-eyed in mortification, was the fact that, perched atop their heads, in what he was sure was some sort of practical joke or demon possession, was two cone-shaped party hats with little streamers poking out of the ends.

Rubbing his eyes again, he flicked the light off, took a deep breath and then flicked it on again. The scene didn't change.

Bewildered, he stumbled to the table and sat down heavily on the last remaining chair, staring ahead.

Then it happened, and it couldn't be stopped once it started.

First it was a smile, and then his eyes brightened just a little. A snort, he tried to stifle so he didn't wake his family. His shoulders shook with the effort, and in barely a minute he couldn't breathe. His eyes watered for a moment, and then in a drunken moment of decision he whisked out his phone, whipped it around Myspace style, not that he had ever had any practice at this thank-you very much, and snapped a photo of the three of them.

And it was to that shout of laughter Sam and John woke.

He'd never wanted much from life. He considered himself pretty damn lucky. Yes, Sam and John would probably go back to bickering by the break of dawn, and maybe they'd forget next year's birthdays. Maybe he'd spend the rest of his life feeling like he had something to prove.

But the moment, that so uncharacteristically honest moment when the masks cracked and a little bit of hope and silliness bled into their lives, it was perfection.

Sometimes you don't need a lot to make you smile. All you need is reprieve.

A fleeting memory when, yes everything was what you dreamt it would be, but it was just something different.

It had been such a long time coming. But when the laughter stopped and they realised how odd it was that they were sitting there in awkward silence looking like a family they would never be, it didn't seem so very odd.

It was almost natural.

They were still the Winchesters though. This meant his two presents were wrapped in bags they'd been bought in and the cake was gone in three bites.

He once asked himself what one day mattered when the rest of the year was so horrible. Well know he knew, and it was an awful lot. It didn't matter which day it was, as long as just occasionally, there was a fleeting moment that wasn't drowning in demons, or dragged backwards by fights.

Of course, he never did share the photo with Sam and John or anyone else, but he sent framed it in a store one weekend and it sat in the back of the Impala for almost four months until they found it by accident.

They didn't talk about it. Life just went back to normal. But Dean knew he wasn't the only one who would open the back of the car looking for something or another and pause at the only family portrait they'd had taken since Mary Winchester had died.

- The End -

First off, thankyou for sticking through this with me. This story has represented a lot of ups and downs and it's been a long time since it was first published.

I'll be honest when I say that I'm not sure the perfect birthday does exist, but I hope each of my wonderful readers has one in the New Year. :)

Please don't do a Dean and cope with disappointments in life by drinking. It is neither helpful nor uplifting. I recommend you find help and support from friends, family or any of the organisations or professionals involved in this kind of support in your local area.

Finally, please please PLEASE REVIEW! I really appreciate all your support.

Keep Smilin' :)


End file.
